


250 Follower Drabbles

by chibisgotovalhalla



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddlefic, Dancing, Fluff, Horror, Requests, Smut, follower event, mixed bag of prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:07:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibisgotovalhalla/pseuds/chibisgotovalhalla
Summary: To celebrate gaining 250 followers on Tumblr, I created an event involving the "D20 of Fate". Followers were invited to request a character name and I rolled a 20-sided dice and picked a scenario from a list of 20, depending on what number the dice landed on. Like my other collections, each chapter is a separate drabble, varying in length. I'll note the characters and content at the start of each. There will be 27 drabbles in total. I hope you'll enjoy them.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Hvitserk's Return

**Author's Note:**

> First Story:
> 
> "Hvitserk's Return".
> 
> Prompt: 4. Huddling for warmth.
> 
> Summary: On a freezing winter night, you return to your cabin to find Hvitserk almost frozen to death. Despite the danger of getting caught, you take him inside to help him.
> 
> Note: This one turned out to be a little longer than most of my drabbles. I hope you enjoy it 😊

You left the pleasant warmth of the Great Hall. After spending the night with your friends basking in the heat of the fire, you were reluctant to leave.

You were glad the walk home through the close-packed cabins was short. The deep snow made the walk laborious. The perishing wind, blowing off the fjord, brought more flurries from the mountains. You tightened your fur cloak around you, hands hidden beneath in thick gloves to keep them warm. Your hood covered everything except your eyes.

Indeed, this was the most brutal winter you'd ever known. And yet, you were a Viking. The harsh cold was something you'd grown to deal with.

Life went on in the far northern reaches of Norway, even in the deepest winter. King Bjorn did his best to provide for his people. The Hall had been open day and night, the fire roaring and the city folk welcome to huddle against the warmth. He provided ale and food for the poorest. The King even drafted up a small band of strong, young men to distribute firewood to the needy.

People loved their King; it was clear by their adoration at his displays of generosity. You couldn't forgive Bjorn's treatment of Hvitserk when he excommunicated your friend.

You chose not to remain in the Hall for the night. Your place was better given to a mother with a young child who'd lost her husband in the summer raids. Though you knew it would be hard to keep warm alone, you had a good stock of food and wood in your cabin. You appreciated that your situation was better off than many folk's.

In front of the door to your cabin lay a strange furry lump. It huddled against the wood, a fine layer of snow coating its fur. You decided it must be a stray dog looking for shelter in harsh conditions.

Puckering your lips, you made a few kissy noises and whistled to get its attention. 'Come on, dog. You need to move so I can get inside.'

The bundle of fur didn't move, though you thought you saw it shiver.

A thin stick rested against the wall. You reached for it with care, knowing the danger posed stray dogs posed. Some of them could be friendly if only recently turned loose. Yet, you'd heard plenty of stories of stray dogs turning feral after years alone in the forest. Talk of strays coming down the mountain looking for shelter from the extreme cold circulated.

'Come on, dog. Move! I'm freezing, and I want to get inside my home.' You poked the dog with the stick, and it elicited a nasty growl. Its head came up, and it turned to you, gnashing its teeth. You dropped the stick and fell backwards with a scream into the snow. You only saw that the bundle of fur was Hvitserk when he was right on top of you, pinning you to the ground. He was unrecognisable. His face pale and drawn, lips blue with cold. A scar crossed his right cheekbone where an arrow had rended it months ago he'd stood trial for Lagertha's killing. And he was so very, very thin. Almost wraith-like.

'Hvitserk! What are you doing here?'

The man on top of you recoiled. You had the idea that even if he'd wanted to hurt you, he wouldn't have the strength. 'Y/N? I'm so thankful it's you.' He crawled aside and fell back in the snow.

Seeing how awful he looked broke your heart. You assumed when he'd escaped his punishment, Hvitserk found another place to live. You didn't need to ask to know this wasn't the case.

You pushed yourself up and crawled through the freezing snow to his side. 'What are you doing? If your brother Bjorn finds you here, he'll kill you.'

'I'm sorry, Y/N. I thought you'd be taking shelter in the Hall. It's so cold in the forest. I- I can't bear it. I came here thinking your home would be empty. I could shelter for the night and go back into the trees at dawn before anyone saw me. But I found your door locked. I didn't have the strength to break it open.'

You pulled your glove from your hand and touched Hvitserk's face. His skin was so cold you recoiled. 'I'm surprised you're even alive. Let's get you inside.'

Reaching into your cloak, you unpinned your key from your hangerock and unlocked the door. Hvitserk made a feeble attempt to get to his feet but didn't have the strength. You wanted him inside before anyone saw him on your doorstep. Helping Hvitserk survive the night was your priority, but you also wanted to avoid getting yourself killed for treason.

Though skinny, Hvitserk's lanky form was still heavy enough to pose a few problems getting him in the door. You crashed into everything, almost falling twice as you helped him inside and closed the door. At the centre of your tiny cabin, the embers of your hearth fire still glowed. You helped Hvitserk onto a small stool and tugged off his heavy, damp fur. The odour of the forest, soil, and unwashed male clung to it.

'I'll get you a blanket. Wait here.'

Hanging the fur on a rack to dry, you grabbed the blanket from your bed and swaddled it around him. You added your own cloak, warmed from your heat and the effort of helping him inside.

'You don't have to do this,' Hvitserk said. 'Leave me in the corner. You don't know what a privilege the floor would be after what I've been through.'

'I won't do that,' you said. 'I can't, Hvitserk.'

Memories of a time before Thora had come into his life flooded your mind. You'd hoped for a future for the two of you. You could have been happy. You might even have married Hvitserk if he'd asked you.

Even now, you still cared about Hvitserk. You'd not stopped thinking about him since his brother excommunicated him. You didn't even care what happened if you got caught harbouring him in your home.

You added some wood to the fire and stoked up the flames. Once the heat popped and crackled, you added a pot of stew to warm. You'd made the food that morning for your day-meal and kept the leftovers for your supper. The bread was fresh that morning. You cut off a few good hunks of it, knowing that Hvitserk was likely starved.

While the food warmed, you helped him out of his wet boots. The leather had been soggy long enough to soak through. Beneath, his sodden socks had worn to holes.

'I'm glad to see you,' you soothed as you worked, wanting to get as much of the wet gear off him as possible. 'I'm glad you chose to come to me.'

'I'm happy to see you. I didn't know where else to go.' He didn't look thrilled. His gaunt face was down set, his dark-circled eyes were weary. They closed as his head lolled onto his shoulder.

You let him sleep for a few minutes, waking him only when the food was hot. By that time, you'd managed to find him some spare socks, and you'd dug out all the blankets you owned. There weren't many, but Hvitserk needed all the warmth he could get.

Hvitserk startled when you woke him. He gasped, his eyes darting around for hidden enemies or beasts. You shushed him and stroked his cheek, bringing him back to the moment. He placed his hand over yours, relaxing into the warmth of your touch.

'How did I get here?' he asked as if you hadn't dragged him through the door less than an hour ago.

You reassured him. 'You're safe with me, Hvitserk. It doesn't matter for now. You need to eat. You look like you're starving.'

'Food has no interest for me,' he said. This concerned you. The hungriest prince of Kattegat was once upon a time never far from a snack.

You rose to remove the stew from the heat. The broth steamed as you heaped a bowl, scooping out as many lumps of meat and vegetables as you could. Your own bowl followed as an afterthought.

Despite what he said, Hvitserk left the fire for the table when you called for him. The spoon splashed into the broth as he ate. He tore at the bread, wetting it in the stew and scooping up the meat with it. Before you'd taken a few mouthfuls, his bowl was clean. Hvitserk ate so quickly he was breathless.

You poured him some ale, and he chugged, rivulets spilling down his chin. He sat in silence while you finished your meal, somewhere between brooding and sleep.

Despite the fire, drafts still seeped into your cabin. In the dead of a freezing night, it would be stupid to undress Hvitserk and bathe him. You did the best you could to wash his face and hands with a cloth. Hvitserk sat placidly while you tended to him. He moved only to make it easier for you to wipe the cloth behind his ears and the back of his neck. Exhausted, he didn't speak, and you let him rest. He'd been through such terrible things. You didn't force him to recount them.

Instead, you led him to your bed. The sheets were cold, and he shivered when you took the furs from around him and covered the bed with them. You squeezed in next to him, reassured when his arms wrapped around you for warmth. You held him close for the longest time, the night wearing on as he fidgeted. At one point, you thought he must still be cold, so you wrapped him ever tighter. It didn't help.

'Hvitserk, what's wrong?' you asked.

'I have nothing to give you to say thank you,' he responded. 'I came here expecting you to help me. How can I repay you when I can't even afford to keep myself?'

'Nothing matters except your safety. You can thank me by letting me help you get better,' you said to soothe him.

Hvitserk held onto you tighter. 'I already am better. Earlier tonight, I was dead. But here, in your arms, I am alive again.'

You hummed against his head as he drifted into sleep. Despite the cold, you both warm, wrapped up in each other, secure and sound. It would be hard to hide him from the townsfolk, but you were ready to whatever it took to keep him alive.


	2. Bark at the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During his "time of the month", Ivar gets really crabby. When you follow him up the mountain on a full moon night you find out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Werewolf!Ivar x reader. Warnings: bone cracking noises, gratuitous and self-indulgent description of Ivar's shoulders.

Ivar nestled his head against your chest and sighed. The exhausting day, filled with doing nothing much, wore you both out. For Ivar, getting around on his crutches was a full-body workout. As his lover, your work came in stopping his temper from bubbling over. Any number of idiocies on account of the townsfolk could set him off at any time. Preventing them from winding up with the spike of Ivar's crutch through their throat took a lot of effort. It was a constant diplomatic mission. But it was a task you took with pride. After all, you loved Ivar. Part of that was protecting him from himself.

You noticed how Ivar became crabbier than usual around about this time of the month. It usually lasted three days, occurring every twenty-eight. You charted his moods with care, not out of self-preservation, for you knew he wouldn't hurt you. But during his... time of the month, you knew best to keep him away from things that might set him off. His brother, Sigurd, for one, or anyone else who wished to pester him.

Wrapping your arms around him, you kissed the braids on top of his head. 'What should we do this evening?' you asked, already anticipating the answer.

'I'm unsure, min elska,' he replied. 'You do whatever you like. I am... otherwise engaged this evening.'

'You are?' you asked, unsurprised. Ivar tended to disappear during the nights of his time of the month. He never told you where he went or what he got up to. Over the last few months, you stopped asking. You knew he wouldn't answer, regardless of how you pled or pouted your lips. Ivar wasn't immune to your feminine wiles. Though during his crabby days, he was adamant in refusing your questions.

'Hm. Speaking of which, min elska, I should leave. I will see you tomorrow.'

Ivar leaned upon an elbow, planted a kiss on your lips, then swung himself up to sitting. The joints of his hips and knees clicked and cracked as he struggled up to his feet, using the wall to pull himself up.

You held out his crutches, which Ivar took with a thin smile.

'I'll see you in the morning, min elska. Stay indoors tonight, hm? There are... prowlers around, and I don't want you to get hurt.'

You nodded. Of course, you weren't going to listen to Ivar. You had a plan forming for weeks.

As soon as Ivar was out the door, you leapt from the bed and ensconced yourself in a black cloak. Its protection from the cold was only one element to it's use tonight. The cloak belonged to Ivar, and its substantial baggy hood would help conceal you from view. Specifically, it would hide you from Ivar's view. Tonight, you planned to follow him.

The fact he was unable to move with speed was a boon for you both. The narrow streets of Kattegat made it easy to lose sight of him. This forced you to expose yourself as you dashed from gap to gap.

When Ivar headed for the forest, it became easier to hide. The tall fir trees behind the city were well spaced. The full moon overhead produced bright shafts between the trees. You slipped between the shadows, following him up the mountain until he stopped in a clearing half-way up.

You didn't know what you'd uncover. Was it a secret tryst with another woman? You hoped not, or you'd be using the dagger from your belt to slit his throat. You hoped he'd be meeting some secret ally to discuss the overthrowing of Lagertha. It seemed the best outcome in your mind—the easiest on you, as at least it wouldn't lead to heartache.

From behind the cover of a large boulder, you suppressed a gasp when Ivar dropped his crutches. They fell to either side of him as your lover balanced precariously on his legs. You wanted to run to him and ask what he was doing, gather him to you before he fell. But instinct told you to watch.

Ivar picked at the laces closing the neck of his tunic. Grabbing the hem, he peeled it up and off in one swift movement. Exposing the muscled plane of his back to the moonlight, he dropped the garment to the ground. The silver hue reflected across his strong shoulders. It highlighted the dark lines of his tattoos, the firm roundness of his rugged arms, and his well-built torso tightened as Ivar raised both arms to the moon. You thought he might perform some sort of magic rite to the gods. Either way, the sight of his tight flesh worked magic between your thighs.

He'd better not of come out to meet a woman, after all, you thought. This beast is mine.

Beast though he might be, you still had the urge to run to him. His stance on his legs looked perilous, even painful. He threw his head back, eliciting a howl at the moon above, which punctured the night air. As the yowl tailed off, an almighty crack pierced the air.

Ivar folded as his hips broke. He twisted with the pain, howling and grimacing. You screamed as you watched him writhe on his feet. Pain contorted his face as more bones creaked and cracked. His limbs shifted positions and protruded at weird angles.

Next, his back twisted as his spine began to transform. His shoulderblades snapped and realigned themselves further back on his spine. They rippled beneath his skin. Even the joints of his burly arms broke before your eyes and realigned themselves. His fingers elongated, nails burgeoned into long, wicked claws.

Hair began to sprout from his smooth torso. Thick mats at first, and then a long, black coat of shiny hair pelted his body. His thick, burly arms remained Ivar's. As did those long shoulders. His braids remained intact, shining silver in the moonlight.

There was no hiding your presence. Harsh gasps of breath ragged from your chest as Ivar's transformation reached completion. Large, wolf-like ears appeared at the side of his head, and they twitched at the sound of your breathing.

Hunched, Ivar spun around. The only recognisable features were his piercing blue eyes. His nose and mouth, now a muzzle with a glinting black snout, sported fangs as long as your finger.

You backed away as Ivar lumbered, unencumbered by his legs. They carried his weight with ease, and he naturally needed no help. His muscular and broad torso hulked in front of you as you backed into a tree.

'Are you happy,' he snarled, 'now you've seen me for what I am?'

You gulped hard. Trying not to show fear, you reached out and cupped Ivar's face. It was soft, like an old dog's. Those piercing blue eyes of his were mild, as always when he looked at you. 'Your bones all broke!' you exclaimed. It wasn't an eloquent sentence, but the best you could manage.

Ivar's ears folded back, and he shook his head. 'At least there's no pain... not like when I'm human.' His voice was gruffer than expected but still held Ivar's cynicism.

'How long have you been like this?' you asked, hand stroking down his long neck to his fluffy chest. Your fingers buried into his coat, almost disappearing in the long black hair.

'I can't talk about it now,' he said. 'There are things I must do.'

'Like what?'

Ivar contemplated answering but shook his head. 'I have to go. We will talk in the morning. Tell no one!'

Before you could protest, Ivar turned and dropped down on all fours. He sped off through the forest with a wolf-like gait.

Unable to move, you slid down the tree to the ground, where you sat for the longest time. Every now and then, a howl ripped through the forest with a mocking intonation. A little message, you decided, from Ivar telling you that he knew you were still there.


	3. An Evening at Uppsala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Floki gets petty when Athelstan interrupts his story telling at Uppsala.

_Tee-he-he-he-heeeee_.

Floki's laugh echoed through the forest, followed by Torstein's booming chuckle. The two men in their mid-thirties puffed and wheezed as they ran towards the temple. Despite the raids and their active lifestyles, they were both fit to fall down.

And that's what they did when they reached the temple grounds of Uppsala. They collapsed into the mulch, ooh-ing and ahh-ing in awe at the gold gilt roofs and fierce, carved stangs.

'I can feel the gods already here,' Floki said.

'So can I,' Torstein agreed. 'I can feel their presence, their magic.'

'What should we do first?' Floki scrunched his nose as he thought back to his two previous visits. 'We could visit the shrine of the gods and make our offering. Or perhaps we should go down to the riverbank where the mushrooms grow.'

Torstein's mischievous laugh rang out. 'Or what about women? I remember the women here being ready for anything.'

'And what about Helga?'

'She can join us if she wants.'

Both men laughed again as the shadow of a hulking figure blocked their view of the golden roofs.

Leif Eriksson stroked his glorious beard and grinned. 'So, we all made it. I wonder what the gods will have in store for us.'

'Plenty I would expect,' said Arne, who dropped down next to the two men on the ground. He leaned up on one elbow, admiring some Gotlandish women who huddled in a small group. "I'm willing to enjoy whatever they throw my way.'

The four men laughed together as they waited for the rest of their party to arrive. Ragnar carried his daughter Gyda on his shoulders. His son Bjorn, who Floki saw had an impressive future, helped Lagertha carry their necessities.

When the offerings were made and the shrine had been visited, the party sat gathered in their temporary abode. The shelter, provided to Ragnar as a privilege for being earl, was big enough for most of them.

Floki took it upon himself to entertain the group with stories of his gods. What else could they talk about while at Uppsala then the reason that kept him alive?

'So clad in a wedding dress and Brisingamen, Freya's necklace, the mighty god Thor set out for the place underground where Thrym hid the Mjolnir.'

'Wait a minute,' interjected Athelstan. 'So you're telling me that the god Thor, who is a man, dressed like a woman?'

Silence settled around the fireplace. Floki and his friends looked amongst one another. Several of the men and Lagertha suppressed a laugh. Only Ragnar didn't find the priest amusing. But Ragnar was far too accepting of the Christian, who Floki would've killed by now. He thought it was the proper thing to do.

'That is what I said, is not, priest?' Floki spat, annoyed at the interruption.

Several of the group couldn't contain their laughter. It rang out around the cabin, and Floki grinned at their amusement. It didn't take much to egg him on, after all.

'I only meant that it seems uncharacteristic of the god Thor, who's often portrayed as a muscular protector, to disguise himself in a woman's dress. Didn't the other gods laugh at him?'

Everybody laughed at Athelstan, all except for Floki. 'Of course not. The god Loki accompanied him as a bridesmaid to help him go undetected.'

'But it doesn't seem like a very masculine thing to do. In Christian tradition, Saint Paul-'

'Shut the fuck up, priest!' Floki intoned irritably. 'Nobody wants your stories of your dead saints or your holy book's opinions on how people should dress. Be quiet.'

Again, everybody laughed at Athelstan but Ragnar. Yet Floki didn't care. As far as he was concerned, the priest would be offered up as a sacrifice in the morning and would no longer be an issue.

'Now who wants to hear some more about the god Thor?' Floki asked Ragnar's children. Their eyes lit up, and it was all the boat-builder needed. He was off and running with the rest of the tale, concreting their own mythology in their young minds.


End file.
